


playlist

by i_was_human



Series: D.Min Week 2021 [3]
Category: Lost in Translation (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, D.Min Week 2021, Music, No Beta, Piano, i'm in spain but the s is silent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:21:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29231466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_was_human/pseuds/i_was_human
Summary: For Dongho, music is like breathing.(or: a study of how music impacts his life)
Series: D.Min Week 2021 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2167335
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5
Collections: D.Min Birthday Week 2021





	playlist

_**now playing: desire [explicit]** _

Dongho isn't sure when, exactly, music became such an integral part of his life.

Maybe it was somewhere in the long quiet L.A. nights, back when he was still worried about English books and trying his best to meet up to his parent's expectations. Maybe it was earlier than that - maybe it was back when he sat down at the piano for the first time and pressed that one, life-changing key.

Maybe it never really started.

Maybe it always has been.

In any case, the fact is this: Dongho cannot breathe without music.

This is both in a metaphorical and physical sense.

Metaphorically, he _breathes_ music. It's scrawled over his arms, marking up his thighs and filling the margins of his notebooks with notes and beats and rhythms and lyrics. Every inch of him is covered in music, and he's sure if he cut his finger, he'd bleed sixteenth notes - sharp, frantic beats spilling over his skin.

Physically, because.

Well.

He doesn't have a name for it, per say, but it's this - the way music soothes his nerves, fills the empty space that he's always hated so, so much - that leads to the pair of earbuds nestled safely in his pocket.

It's always there, always available if he needs it.

It's always there.

Sometimes it's piano, sometimes it's k-pop. Sometimes, it's whatever's on the radio, and sometimes it's the soft voice of an English speaker with words just familiar enough that he can let his mind wander.

He's not picky about music. Not really.

Not if it helps him breathe.

_**now playing: suga's interlude** _

There are some days where he wonders where he'd be without music.

There are some days where he wonders what would've been had he never left home, wonders if he'd still be the favorite son, _wonders wonders wonders_ until not even the music can drown it out, and so he plays.

Earbuds in his ears and fingers dancing over the keys - they're never the same song, that isn't the point anyways - he closes his eyes and lets himself drift. 

In.

Out.

The keys are hard under his fingers - grounding, each stroke tethering him to this now - and he exhales, a soft hum filling the air as his fingers dance through scales and rhythms.

It's always calming, this. Familiar, just like breathing.

His fingers slide up to the top of the register, and he lingers there for a moment before sliding back down, down, down, and he lets his head sway from side to side, mind drifting once more.

In.

Out.

He's not hearing what he's playing, and he's sure it'd be more of a cacophony than any real music, but his hands are moving and he's listening to some Korean-English song that's just familiar enough to let him drift, and it's _grounding_.

In.

Out.

His fingers still for an instant, and he sucks in a shuddering breath, eyes flying open to see his hands splayed across the keys.

Ah.

It always ends like this.

He screws his eyes shut once more, hands falling limp to his side, and he lets his mind drift, lulled away by the soft melody in his ears. 

It's perfect like this. 

He's always loved floating. 

_**now playing - sick boy** _

He never loved America.

There was never anything keeping him there - nothing but noise and plastic and a country slowly burning to the ground - and when he stepped foot in Korea, he finally felt like he could breathe.

Still, he continues to cling to the music he heard there.

Why?

Perhaps it reminds him of his adolescence - that brief period when he was a teenager and _didn't_ have his future pressing down on him. Perhaps it reminds him of what could've been - what he would've been, had he stayed there.

It's a mixed bag, as most things are.

But if he closes his eyes and stops listening to the words, then every song sounds the same, and so it's really no big issue. 

Of course, nothing ever is, until it comes crashing down on top of him. 

Going back to L.A. is odd in the sense that everyone's listening to the songs he only listens to in his earbuds.

Everyone's listening to this, everyone knows the words, and there's nothing Dongho can do _but_ think about the words, and that's not- not what he _wanted_ , but it's not entirely bad?

Not always. 

Sometimes, though.

Sometimes, he closes his eyes, and the words batter his mind with things he doesn't-want-to-never-wanted-to think about, and he digs his nails into his skull, and it's grounding in a sense, but what can he do when the air itself is turning against him?

He rips his earbuds out.

They clatter to the floor in moments, and Dongho sucks in a breath, trying to focus on the way the room is not-quiet because there's music playing next door, tries to focus on his breath, anything other than the silence, and it works, for a time.

It's not a permanent patch, but it's enough.

(he wishes he'd never heard the words.)

_**now playing: blue hour** _

Something he'll take to his grave is that he genuinely enjoys SA1NT's music. 

Of course, he doesn't support the group (not anymore, at least) but the music has never failed to raise his mood at least a little.

Not that he'll ever tell Minsoo this. _God_ , no.

It makes doing the dishes a lot more fun, though.

He bobs his head to the beat playing in his earbuds, hands coated in soapy water, and he smiles a bit as it crescendos, the song turning brighter and jumpier in an instant.

At least the rest of MAYHEM are out.

He sings along a bit as he spins over to the stove, grasping a sponge and starting to scrub. The grit comes off easily, though he has to scrub a bit at the melted plastic (how did they even _manage this?_ ) before it comes free.

It's nice.

Listening to music when he's in a good mood - it's nice.

He flicks on the faucet, turning to scrub another plate, and he grins despite himself as the music bounces along, SA1NT's voices floating into his ears. 

It's nice.

SA1NT's music is - despite how much he dislikes the members themselves - very nice. 

He flicks off the faucet and unplugs his earbuds, grinning as the music fills the entire kitchen.

This is nice.

Though music may be just so he can breathe most times, it's always fun to have something to sing to. 

**Author's Note:**

> this was written for day three of d.min week 2021! prompt: piano
> 
> songs used:  
> desire [explicit] - jeremy zucker  
> suga's interlude - halsey  
> sick boy - the chainsmokers  
> blue hour - txt
> 
> (i chose blue hour because you cannot convince me sa1nt weren't at least a bit like txt when they debuted. ik most people agree they're like shinee, but c'mon... txt)
> 
> [twit](https://twitter.com/i_was_human_) | [lit fic discord!](https://discord.gg/CNunB74)


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